Collateral Damage
by borgmama1of5
Summary: Sam had taped that poster over his bed in every motel for six months…


 **Beta:** **sandymg** Any errors are mine, I fussed with it after she worked her magic…  
 **Disclaimer:** Just borrowing them for a little while…

 **Prompt:** from zara_zee Sam: " _I used to be in business with my brother. Truth is I was pretty good at the job. But...I made some mistakes, I did some stuff I'm not so proud of, and people got hurt. A lot of people."_ Free to Be You and Me, episode 5.03

* * *

 **Collateral Damage**

"C'mon, Sam, answer the damn phone," Dean muttered while keeping an eye on his dad, who was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other pressing a rapidly reddening bandana to his temple.

Dean's other eye was on the passenger rearview mirror, watching for flashing blue lights. Holding his breath to hear if the sirens were getting closer.

It'd been one of those hunts that was a clusterfuck from the get-go—the werewolf had been waiting for them. The creature had hurled John across the alley into a brick wall and sprung toward Dean with reflexes Dean couldn't possibly match. The fucker'd been strong, effortlessly lifting Dean up by the throat with one hand, and as Dean's feet dangled over the ground he'd struggled to reach his knife—he'd dropped his gun when the monster'd grabbed him—as he started to black out. Then the sudden crack of a gunshot echoed between the buildings and the monster let out an angry growl, dropping Dean as it whirled toward John. Dean gasped for breath and staggered to stand—

"Down!" Dean hit the pavement as his dad pulled the trigger again—and just then a back window opened and a woman screamed, and because this had to be one of those neighborhoods where people actually watched out for each other, in seconds someone else was yelling to call the police—"He's got a gun!" "They shot someone!" Without a word Dean and John took off as fast as they could.

They were parked close by because they hadn't expected to meet the werewolf right there. That was good since John was wobbling even as he was running full out, but also bad because Dean could hear someone yelling to get the license plate as John peeled away from the curb.

"Call Sam. Tell him to grab the essentials. I'll pull up, you help him load the trunk, and we go."

His dad always knew what to do next when a situation went to hell, and Dean always admired that—no hesitation, just lay out the next steps even as he's bleeding from a head wound and possibly a concussion.

Now if only Sam would answer the damn phone.

"Hello?"

Another time Dean would have laughed at Sam's pathetic attempt to lower his voice and sound older, but there wasn't time to be amused.

"Sam? We're ten minutes away. Throw everything into the bags, we have to peel out of here."

"Are you okay? Is Dad okay?"

Dean glanced at his dad as he answered. "Yeah, we're fine but the cops were called and we gotta go. Grab the most important stuff and I'll be there in a couple minutes."

"What happened?"

"Pack, Sam! Five minutes!" Dean disconnected. Always with the questions.

The Impala jerked around a corner a little too sharply, then corrected. Even in the poor light, Dean could tell John was pale.

"You okay, Dad? Do you have a concussion?"

"No, just a helluva headache. Damn amateur move, getting caught like that."

You, too, flashed irritatedly through Dean's mind, but Dad was right, Dean should have been faster.

"Sorry. Won't let it happen again."

Dean swallowed gingerly. He was going to have five lovely bruises around his throat tomorrow. Maybe he could pass them off as hickeys.

"Give me the med kit from the trunk when you get out. I have to do something with this."

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

"No time. I just need to put something on it to stop the bleeding. You can clean it up when we find a place to hole up."

"Okay."

As soon as John stopped the car, Dean was out. After handing his dad the med box, he scrambled up the motel stairway and pounded on their room door.

"Sam! Let's move!"

While it felt like it took forever, it was only a minute till Sam opened the door.

"What happened, Dean?"

Dean ignored his brother's anxious eyes and looked around the room. Their three duffel bags were open, clothes and papers poking out haphazardly. Not the first time they'd had to clear out of a place quickly, and Dean automatically went through the drill.

"Weapons?"

"I packed them first."

"Notes?"

"They're in Dad's bag."

As he talked, Dean quickly checked the bathroom. Sam had cleared it out—wouldn't have been the first time they'd left their personal stuff, but it would be nice not to have to buy more toothpaste and shave cream if they don't have to.

Sam was rolling Dad's suitcoat and stuffing it in the top of Dean's bag.

"Okay, let's go."

"Wait!"

Sam scrambled on his bed and started to fumble with the poster taped to the wall. "Just one more minute!"

Sam'd been taping that poster of Rio from Top Notch Wrestling over his bed in every motel since Dad got it for him six months ago.

"No time, Sam!" Dean reached over and pulled Sam down. The poster ripped as Sam's hand didn't let go.

"Dean!"

Dean shut down his instinctive reaction to Sam's anguished cry. It was just a piece of paper.

"Cops are coming." Dean sucked in a deep breath. "Sam, you don't need it! Let's go!" He shoved one of the bags into his brother's hand and pushed him toward the door. "Move!"

With one last distressed look at the dangling poster, Sam left. Dean grabbed the other two duffels and slammed the door behind him.

He'd make it up to Sam. Buy him another poster. Sometimes you have to let stuff go.

Sammy would understand that, right?


End file.
